Young & Beautiful

Harry nods quietly, knuckles white, but says nothing.
“I think he’s actually going back tonight for more work. That should be fun.”
Which makes Harry turn his head sharply. “He’s already been at the studio?” he asks, attention
piqued.
“Er, yeah, two days ago or summat. Didn’t you know?”
Harry’s face reacts, just barely, almost too sudden for Louis to catch. He blinks steadily, and his
lashes catch in the gold of the sun. “Was Des there?” he asks in a controlled tone, ignoring Louis’
question, and though Louis hears nonchalance on the surface of each word, he feels the tension
sparking beneath Harry’s skin.
“No. He wasn’t,” is all Louis says.
And the silence returns, filled only by the wind that whips against the car and through their bodies.
And Louis silently wishes for an anvil to drop on him.
**
When they reach their destination, the last road Louis expects Harry to turn onto is a long,
winding cobblestone one that snakes through willow trees and endless expanses of green grass.
And the last sight he expects to see as they wind their way further down is the large, beautiful
mansion with classic architecture and Corinthian columns, sat in front of gardens and elaborate
fountains at the end of the property, tall, silent, and shadowed by the midday clouds.
“Holy shit,” Louis breathes under his breath, but Harry makes no move. “I thought we were going
to go to Starbucks or something,” he mumbles, staring at the sight before him with wide eyes.
Harry smirks, the tiniest bit, stormy walls of his eyes flickering for a millisecond as they make their
way further toward the house, Louis staring betwixt Harry and said house with a mixture of awe
and confusion.
They ease into the roundabout that lies before the enormous expanse of stairs and entryway, large
marble vases overflowing with roses and ivy sitting on either side of them. It’s even more
enormous up close, and more beautiful, and Louis stares with a full dropped jaw at the balconies
and archways, vaguely aware that he should be Snapchatting this to Stan as he spots an actual
fucking gargoyle sat at the top of the tallest peak.
“Welcome to my house,” comes Harry’s sudden drawl as they park the car.
And Louis’ jaw only drops just that bit more, because he genuinely thought they were at a fucking
museum. Not Harry’s home.
“Sweet mother of god,” he mutters, sending Harry into an irritated eye roll as they emerge from
the car.
When they enter the house, Louis is actually expecting Alfred from Batman to pop out of
nowhere, opening the door for them and offering champagne on a tray despite Harry’s gruff
explanation of “Our butler’s on holiday so we haven’t got the staff here today.”
Which, really, is fucking insane enough itself.